


I. Love. You.

by Pandastuff101



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel of the Lord, Day Off, M/M, One Shot, castiel - Freeform, djin, hunting mentioned, let them talk goddamn, season 12 meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 16:38:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12634956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pandastuff101/pseuds/Pandastuff101
Summary: 『It's falling from heaven only heaven is made of memories you can never have, people you can never meet, and love you can never keep』Dean in struggling to forget a recent encounter with a Dijn, and sneaks away on one of his rare days off.





	I. Love. You.

The Winchesters were never meant to have their own happy ending. From the very beginning, when they were but thought bubbles in God's (or Chuck's, take your pick) mind, their story was a tragic one filled with loss and pain and death. _ Despair  _ was the thing they were best at, besides hunting. They had long since moved past the point of being able to imagine their lives without it, had become sickeningly numb to the constant aches in their hearts years and years ago. The Winchesters were never meant to know anything other than this life — at least, not in this universe. In others, maybe, they are happy, because there are infinite universes for every scenario.

 Maybe it was this that made the Djin Dean's second-to-least favorite monster. Witches were fucking nasty with their bodily messes and cat sacrifices, but something about the genie-like monsters cut through his chest deeper and faster than the claws of a hellhound — and, believe me, he had felt both.

_  It's the falling that's the worst _ , he thinks offhandedly as he shoots steal at the blue being before him. The Djin smiled, revealing its sharp teeth and the top of an intricate lip tattoo.  _ It's falling from heaven only heaven is made of memories you can never have, people you can never meet, and love you can never keep. _

 The worst part was that the memories stayed long after the monster was killed. Dean couldn't get them out of his head, hazy and scattered though they were. Sam walked around him like he was stepping on eggshells, and, even though he was annoyed at being babied, he was grateful for the space.

 Three days later, they were back on the road. Back to what they did best — saving people, hunting things, and, for Dean, maybe picking up a one-night stand along the way.

 It was a simple case, one that was sorely needed after the Djin disaster. Sam had gotten wind of mysterious deaths in the small town of Shaftsbury, Vermont. A figure dressed in military garb had been seen by witnesses appearing out of the blue before ripping out the hearts of its victims. According to their research, the ghost was Richard Flinter, whose brother had apparently stolen his wife while he was fighting in the Civil War. God knows why he wanted his revenge on his surviving relatives a little over a century  _ later _ , but they had to deal with it anyways. They performed the standard open casket salt and burn, and turned in to a small B+B for the night.

 Everything about the town was small, to be sure. It was literally nestled in the hills, with old buildings painted in whites and yellows and rustic barns, gothic styled churches that towered over the rest of the town and a lake to boot. A quick Google search would have told him that the population was a little over thirty-five hundred. The worst a town like this could do was have a couple of pot dealers nestled in a basement somewhere (which there were, trust me. Just...trust me), and that fact hardly worried him. It was the most peaceful place Dean had ever been in this side of paradise (which, again, he had  _ definitely _ experienced. And it wasn't all that, to tell you the truth).

 The next morning, when the sun had barely crested the hills and the birds hadn't even had their coffee yet, Dean snuck down to the lake, a beer cooler nestled in the back seat of the Impala. Sam slept right through his leaving, not that Dean thought he would've protested. He just wasn't willing to put up with the eyes Sam would give him, which were starting to be less and less puppy-like and more...more like the eyes of a freaking therapist. It was disturbing. Dean didn't mind the time, either. Being on the road meant he didn't get a lot of sleep, and he had trained himself to only need four hours each night. Six, if he really needed. Eight if he was in a coma.

 The lake's surface was placid and smooth as a mirror, despite the nipping breeze Dean felt in the air. A small, wooden dock floated on its surface, tethered to land with a thick rope. Dean made his way over, cooler in one hand a jacket in the other. He took off his shoes and socks and let his feet hang over the docks edge, skimming the surface of the water. It was almost soft, and he was surprised by the intensity of the dock he felt when he let his feet sink below its surface.

 The town began to stir. He heard church bells ringing not so far off, as it was Sunday and the pious residents would probably be headed of to church so their minds could be filled with good-willed bullshit. Dean wished them the best, sarcastically, of course. The birds were now fully awake, and their calls filled the air like some kind of cheap movie soundtrack. He had trouble picking out specific songs, but he thought he found hi old favorite from other New England cases. He wasn't sure the name of the bird, but something about its call made him relax into himself, made the water seem a little less cold and the cheap beer taste a little better. For once in the longest time, he let his mind wander. He took in the purple mountains and golden trees, the crystal blue sky and the soft, lush grass, and tucked it all away in his mind. A pretty picture to look back on later, when this memory was nothing but that. A memory. A nice memory of a nice time that was nothing of great importance because it was one gold nugget out of hundreds of rotten seeds. How treasured a nugget it would be, though.

 "Dean?" a voice asked, heavy and confused like the weight of the universe rested on the speakers every word and he wasn't sure why he had been burdened with it.

 Dean jumped, beer splashing onto his hand. "Jesus! Cas th — what are you doing here?" he turned to face the angel, balancing his weight on the hand he was resting on the dock. Cas looked...well, the same as always, to be honest. The angel never changed, except for maybe his eyes. In the past eight years, the bags under the angel's eyes had only darkened, the stress that filled them making the blue darken and swirl with the secrets and pains of the universe.

 "You called me." Castiel replied, as though it was the simplest thing in the universe. And it was, to him, for reasons Dean couldn't fathom. Dean called, and so Cas came. Dean needed him, and so Cas was there.

 His face passive, Dean scoffed out a laugh, turning back to the lake. "No, I didn't. Still, since you're here, might as well grab a beer and join me."

 Castiel didn't sit, but remained standing behind Dean, taking in the lake with weary eyes. Dean felt his presence like a warm blanket, and he was surprised by the effect.

 "You're troubled." Cas said eventually, before putting a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean merely grunted, raising the can to his lips for another sip.

 "Careful, Cassy, or you're going to turn into Sam." he said, tone mild. He could practically feel Cas' glare burning into his back, however, and he sighed. "I'm  _ fine _ , Jesus. Can't a guy relax without being attacked by a pair of mother hens?"

 "Dean..."

 " _ Cas...  _ " Dean mimicked, gravelling out his voice in an attempt to match the angels tone.

 "We're just  _ worried about _ you, Dean. Which maybe we wouldn't be if you didn't insist on being the punching bag of every evil thing in the known universe."

 Dean closed his eyes, breathing softly out his nose. Memories flashed across his mind like an unwanted powerpoint presentation. Memories of blue eyes and tousled hair, a sweat and blood soaked face. Three mind-numbing words.

  1. _Love. You._



 And the same words whispered tenderly in his ear, soft as butterfly kisses.

 Dean took another sip of his beer, wishing it was enough to numb him completely.

 "Sam told me you were caught by a Djin."

 Now Dean  _ really _ didn't like  _ that  _ — the thought of the two of them getting together to conspire on how to get him to hydrate(!) or some other self-help bullshit. What would be next, herbal teas?

 Dean raised his beer, squirting at the sun. It was almost half over the hills now. "Well, why don't you tell Sam that he needs a god-damned chill pill. The dude is driving me in _ sane _ ."

 Because Sam was reluctant to get back on the road. Because Sam wanted Dean to rest and recover, because Sam wanted to talk it out, because Sam looked at him like he was made of delicate china, because Sam because Sam because  _ Sam _ wanted Dean to sort through all his bullshit and not keep it holed up, which he was very  _ good _ at, thank you very much.

 Cas shook his head, almost like he was marveling at Dean's stubbornness. "After all this time, you still do not believe you deserve to be saved."

 "'Cause you haven't given me a legitimate reason to believe it."

 "I have never met or heard of a man so blind to his own self-worth." Dean paused, surprised by the shift in his friend's voice. Cas sounded genuinely frustrated...angry that Dean was apparently blind to whatever he was seeing. "You have saved countless lives. You have gone to hell and death and back...you have met God Himself, and Lucifer, too, and lived to tell the tale. You...you saved  _ me _ ."

 Something twisted in Dean's chest. He turned back to face the other man, as though he could find his answers in the blue eyes that meet his. Their friendship had only brought pain onto the angel, and selfish joy and consolation to Dean. He thought of all the times he had seen Cas die, all the times he had seen the angel broken and afraid and lost, all for Dean fault. "I haven't done anything good to you, Cas." Dean admitted, his voice gruff and pained. "I'm nothing but a selfish bastard for keeping you around."

 "You taught me how it is to be human. It isn't always good, yes, and it is always wild. It's like riding a rollercoaster in the rain, with no way of knowing where you're going but knowing you're getting there fast and recklessly." Cas tilted his head, the intensity of his gaze almost scary in how it fixed on Dean and wouldn't let him go. "You taught me true morals and what it means to care for someone deeply."

 Deans throat closed up, and he tried to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry. "Sounds awful."

 "No, Dean. It isn't. It's the best thing that has ever happened to me."

 Dean shook his head, unable to truly grasp what Cas was saying. Being human was just about the worst punishment Dean could think of. When you are human, every day is hell. Every day is twenty-four hours spent in fear of wondering whether they are your last, of wondering if they like you or if this style is in, of small pains and the awkwardness of having a physical body. Dean would never wish that upon Cas, and yet here he was,  _ thanking _ him for the taste of it Dean had apparently given him.

 "You're so much better than me. Then any human, Cas. You don't deserve to be tethered down here. You belong in heaven." he blurted unthinkingly, but still with whole-hearted truth.

 To his surprise, a small smile replaced the frustration on Castiel's face. "Every day spent with you and Sam is better than the millenia I have spent in heaven by the tenfold."

 Unthinkable, but true.

 "Cas...do you remember that day in the barn? When you said...when you said you loved me."

 Dean might have been mistaken, but he thought he saw a trace blush on the angel's cheeks. "Yes."

 Dean closed his eyes, and, when he did, remembered orbs of azure and dark, messy hair. A house in a small town and a dog that seemingly wouldn't stop barking. Sam in a Harvard Law jacket, his initials embroidered on the pocket. The Impala in all her glory but missing the secret compartment in the back.

 He remembered the Djin.

 When he opened his eyes, Cas was waiting patiently for him to speak, standing beside him like there was no where else to be in the world. The water was cold around Dean's feet, and the sun was fully risen.

 "I love you too."

 


End file.
